Official
by A. Windsor
Summary: Jane, Maura, and Nathaniel make it official. Prequel to Mama Bear and Take a Chance.


Title: _Official_

Author: A. Windsor

Pairing/Characters: Jane/Maura

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. My one year of law school could allow me to legalese this a little more, but it also tells me it's pretty useless. So please don't sue; it's not mine, I'm just playing!

Summary: Jane, Maura, and Nathaniel make it official. Prequel to _Mama Bear _and_ Take a Chance_.

Author's Note: Hope you all enjoy! Beta'd by the wonderful, snarky roughian.

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><p>Maura fidgets with Nate's tie for the third time in as many minutes, but the boy easily accepts his mother's fussing with subdued hazel eyes. The newly four-year-old is dressed to the nines in his blue seersucker suit and red necktie (straight and not a bow tie, only because his ma put her foot down). If she hadn't seen him cold cock a bullying six-year-old at the playground the other day, she'd be worried they were raising a pansy. He's still got a bit of that Charlestown in him, though, so Jane has no worries about letting Maura dress him however she sees fit, since it brings her so much joy.<p>

"There's no reason to be nervous. We haven't dropped him on his head." Jane scruffs said sandy head affectionately, adding: "Recently."

Nate giggles at the face his ma makes. Jane extends a hand to squeeze Maura's forearm.

"Hey. We've had him for eighteen months, and he's thriving. There's no way the judge is going to do anything but sign the papers and smile for the picture."

Maura offers a weak smile, and Jane nudges Nate with her knee, nodding towards his mommy. Nate seems to take the hint; while he can talk forever to his mommy, he and his ma rarely need more than a couple words here and there to get the point across.

As Nate climbs into her lap, Maura seems heedless of any wrinkles he may be causing, drawing him close.

"Hello, sweetie."

"Hey, Mommy. Is the judge gonna be nice?"

"I've heard she is very nice," Maura assures him. "She will have a big black robe, much like the priest does in church, and if you are good, she might even let you hold the gavel."

"What's a gavel?"

"A really big hammer. Made of wood," Jane provides.

"Cool!"

As their appointed time ticks by with a few reassurances of "The judge is just running a little behind" from the court officer, Jane begins to pace as Nate and Maura, heads bent and fingers intertwined, talk quietly on the bench.

"I thought you said there was no need to be nervous," Maura says wryly, confidence restored by her proximity to Nathaniel.

"There isn't," Jane grumbles. "Where's Gibson anyway?"

"Sorry I'm late." The young man serving as Nate's caseworker arrives at the sound of his name, breathless, tie askew, piles of papers in his arms. "I hate to be late to the good part of this job. Morning, Nate."

"Good morning, Gibson," Nate chirps from his perch on Maura's lap.

"Good morning, moms," Gibson then smiles at the women. "How are we doing?"

"Alright. Judge's late, too," Jane says, arms crossed over her chest.

"Her docket is full. I've got a case with her this afternoon. Where's Nonna?"

"Ma said no grandmas allowed," Nate says helpfully.

"Oh, but whoever wants can-"

Jane cuts him off with a warning eyebrow.

"Your mommy is right."

Nate shakes his head and points over his shoulder. "Mommy." Then he points at Jane. "Ma. You got them confused." Nate giggles again at Gibson's error, and Maura graces him with a beaming smile.

"My mistake."

"Detective? Dr. Isles? The judge is ready for you."

Jane blows out a shaky breath as the court officer beckons them.

"Don't worry, Detective," Gibson says while Maura straightens both her clothes and Nate's for the millionth time. "You're one of the success stories. Think how far Nate's come."

Jane and Maura first met Nathaniel when he was a few weeks shy of his second birthday. He was in a foster home and practically nonverbal, which wasn't uncommon for his age and certainly not for his situation. But words or no, little Nate and his ever watchful eyes immediately won them over. It was six months until Jane and Maura jumped through all the hoops and were allowed to bring him home full time, but during it all, they both visited him as often as possible, together and separately.

It was in Maura's lap that Nate finally spoke. They were a month or two away from taking him home, and they were in his second foster home since they met him. The first had been deplorable and full of neglect, so his mothers-to-be had raised hell until he was moved. The second was better; the foster parents were overworked and overstretched, but what they lacked in individual attention, they made up for in general supervision, hygiene, and warm atmosphere.

Maura visited him every lunch break, regardless of the state of the bodies on her table, while Jane made it whenever the pace of an investigation could allow it at all. His mommy would talk to him, calmly, evenly, explaining the wonders of everything they could see, reading him books she'd bring along, pointing out the daily little miracles of science, all while he perched in her lap or on her hip, one hand tangled in her long locks, the doctor for once completely immune to fears of germs or stains or knots.

One day, an ordinary Tuesday, after an outdoor fall picnic of PB&J with all three members of the prospective family, Maura asked her usual:

"That leaf is a particularly pretty shade of red, don't you think, Nathaniel?"

To their eternal shock, he'd easily responded: "Yeah, Ma ma."

He later learned to distinguish them as _Mommy _and _Ma_, and they'll never be sure if he was calling her mama or approximating Maura that day, but that moment had meant the world to them. All their fears were pushed aside, and the next months passed with agonizing slowness as they awaited permission to take him home for more than an afternoon or the occasional overnight.

Over the next two months, Nate's vocabulary grew exponentially, proving quickly that his delayed speech was not a symptom of mental slowness or a lagging intelligence, but rather of the trauma his short years had already seen. Tucked in Jane's or more often Maura's embrace, the boy began to chatter on in an increasingly clear and advanced language, until he became the boy he is today, a constant chatterbox at his mommy's side, a keen companion at his ma's.

"C'mon, Ma. I wanna hold the hammer."

"It's a gavel, Nathaniel."

"That's what I said, Mother."

Maura gives her wife a death glare for engraining that response in him. Jane just grins as she shoos Nate in the door and takes Maura's hand.

"Well good morning," the judge says warmly. "You must be Nathaniel."

"Yep," Nate responds brightly, then, remembering Maura's coaching, "Your Honor."

"You look _so _handsome today, Nathaniel."

"Thanks." Nate gets a little shy, suddenly aware his mothers aren't right behind him, and he scuffs his fancy shoes on the carpet of the Judge's lobby. He looks around the lobby, with its long wood table and shelves upon shelves of big books, hands stuffed in his pockets. His mothers take the opportunity to introduce themselves.

"It's nice to meet you. Jack has filled me in Nate's case," the judge says, nodding to Gibson. "Sounds like he's doing great. So what do you say we make this official? Nate, would you like to sit next to me?"

Nate's eyes snap back to the judge, a nice, mid-fifties woman with a toughness hidden behind a grandmotherly smile. He then looks back to his mothers.

"Or you can sit with your moms if you like."

Maura nods encouragingly, and Jane gives him a warm smile before picking him up and depositing him on the squishy leather chair beside the judge, mussing his hair.

"Keep the judge company, please, buddy."

"Okay," Nate relents as his moms also sit down to his left.

"Jack, get my gavel for this young man, please."

Nate gets more excited as Gibson retrieves the "hammer", and the judge turns to Maura and Jane.

"Alright, moms, I'm gonna have you look this over and make sure everything is spelled correctly. We're going to hyphenate, right?"

"Yeah, we are."

Jane is closest to the judge, so she gets the petition to amend Nate's birth certificate first. The sight of all of their names typed out neatly together takes her breath away. While their marriage paperwork had seemed cold and clinical and redundant compared to the beginning of their actual _marriage_, this flimsy piece of paper makes everything seem overwhelmingly real.

Jane reaches for Maura's hand, relieved when her wife's fingers thread through hers.

"Looks good to me, but you're better at this stuff. You take a look. Don't want him stuck with the wrong name."

"_Nathaniel James Rizzoli-Isles,_" Nate recites importantly.

"Kinda a mouthful, we know," Jane says with wry smile. "Usually just Nate."

"It looks fine to me," Maura says crisply, sliding the paper back to the judge.

"Good. Now, Nate, once I sign these papers, it's all official. But I'm not going to do that unless you tell me you want these two to be your moms forever. Is that what you want?"

"Yeah!"

The judge beams at his enthusiastic response. "This has to be the only time people are ever happy to see me."

She bends over the file, the ancient air conditioner rattling in the far window as everyone else falls silent. Soon, the methodical, assured scratching of pen against paper fills their ears. The judge pushes the flimsy form away from her and turns to Nathaniel.

"Okay, Nate. All done. It's all official; does it feel any different?"

"No," Nate answers honestly.

"Probably not. Moms?" the judge turns to those most affected by the simple signing.

"Yeah," Jane clears her throat, reaching for Nate's hand beside her. His nerves are gone, and while she's choked with emotion and Maura beside her has misty eyes, overcome, Nate just grins happily, squeezing his Ma's hand. "Yeah, it feels different."

"I think it's time for pictures," Gibson offers. "You brought a camera, right, Dr. Isles?"

Maura pulls herself together with a sidelong smile for Jane as she pulls her hand away. There's a flurry of activity as everyone stands up and Maura rifles through her obnoxiously large, absurdly expensive bag for the camera. Jane takes a deep breath and lifts Nate up out of the conference table's chair, the suddenness of the action producing a laugh from her son.

"And you better hold onto that gavel for me for the pictures, Nate," the judge insists.

* * *

><p>Even with pictures and small talk and trips to the clerk, it's over even sooner than Jane could predict, despite her knowledge of the court system's overtaxed schedule and the actual routine-ness of this little piece of procedure that changes her life in so many ways. And not at all.<p>

Nate says his goodbyes to the judge, Gibson, and the court officer, and Maura lifts him onto her hip, holding him close tightly. He returns her embrace.

"That was fun, Mommy. Can I have a gavel?"

"No," Jane speaks up, moving to enfold them both in her arms. "But you can use a hammer to help me and Poppa and Uncle Frankie build that treehouse in the backyard."

"I'm getting a treehouse?"

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><p>Angela, Frank, Jr., and Frank, Sr. meet them on the steps of the courthouse, Nonna going absolutely batty about her beloved little "Natey", stealing him from Maura's grasp. His uncle and grandfather are next in line to cuddle and coddle him, and he soaks up the attention.<p>

"Lookin' sharp there, Nate," Frankie says warmly. "Uncle Tommy had trouble getting off work, but he's gonna come by as soon as he can. He sent this for you."

It's yet another cheap little doll of the Red Sox mascot, Wally the Green Monster, this time dressed in swim trunks and an obnoxious Sox themed Hawaiian shirt. The little stuffed toys have become a "thing" between Nate and his other uncle, who has gotten him a million, and Nate loves every single one. The things are practically trash next to the little boy's other millions of playthings, but Jane has learned to appreciate how Tommy has been trying in every way possible to build a relationship with his nephew as he puts his life together.

"Thanks," Nate says automatically.

"Hey, don't thank me. Thank Uncle Tom when you see him later."

"Okay! Nonna, I'm getting a treehouse."

"I heard!"

"A treehouse in the Back Bay. The neighbors'll freak," Frankie murmurs to the mothers.

"I believe that's the point, Frankie," Maura says dryly, with a pointed look at her wife.

Jane shrugs and feigns innocence with a wide smile, and Maura shakes her head.

There's some more commotion as they divide up into cars to drive over to the lovely restaurant, Maura's choice, where they'll be having a little celebratory lunch with Maura's parents (and where the Rizzolis were _supposed_ to be meet them). Frost and Korsak are covering for Jane today, otherwise they'd be along, too.

"I wanna go with Nonna and Poppa," Nate announces.

Jane looks at him expectantly, circling her hand.

"Oh! Please. Can I go with Nonna and Poppa, _please_?"

"Yes. Yes, you may," Maura allows.

Frank, Sr. double-checks the address with Maura, and they all go their separate ways.

By the car, tucked on a side street, Maura reaches for Jane, holding her close as the weight of the day processes through that big brain of hers. Jane smiles into her wondrously soft hair, hands flat against the small of her back.

"Love you."

She can feel Maura's smile at her shoulder, just from the slight shifts in her body language.

"I love you, too," Maura whispers, words she learned are thrown about the Rizzoli family with ease but with complete and total importance.

"So, it's all official now," Jane says. "The only thing left to do is eat fancy food that my four-year-old son likes more than me."

Maura smiles and pulls away after a final squeeze, freeing Jane to head to the driver's side door.

"Perhaps when a small child's palate is more advanced than yours, that's a signal that perhaps your own tastes should evolve a little more."

"Not when that kid's mom is Dr. Maura Isles," Jane shoots back, earning a laugh as she buckles in, wide, stupid smile on her own face.

"I want another."

Jane's hand freezes at the ignition.

"Yeah?"

"I don't want Nate to be an 'only lonely'."

"Lonely only," Jane corrects distractedly.

"Like me," Maura nods.

"Another foster?"

Maura nods again. "Yes, I know it can often be a challenge, but I think that the rewards are great and-"

"No, I agree, sorry. I was just checking."

"You agree that we should pursue another adoption or that if we were to, it should be a foster adoption?"

"Both," Jane says resolutely, looking over to her wife. "As much as I often wanted to kill my brothers. Well, _want_ to kill my brothers. Anyway, yeah, it was great having brothers growing up."

"I always imagined so."

"How would you feel about a little girl this time?" Jane asks. "Just, you know, to keep in mind. If we meet a little boy we fall in love with like Nate, then of course we'd adopt him. But it might be nice to have one of each."

"I think that sounds like a wonderful plan, Jane. We should call Gibson when we get back from the Cape. You know how slow the process can be."

"Alright. That sounds great. Of course, we gotta break the news to the little prince at some point."

"Oh, yes," Maura sounds less than thrilled at the prospect. "I think he'll be excited."

"Do you have hives yet?"

Maura makes a face, clearly unamused, before continuing on her justification:

"He'll come around. And we should wait until things are more definite, of course."

"Of course," Jane grins, knowing full well that Nate will be ecstatic, and then not so much at all, and will finally settle at a happy medium. She thinks he has it in him to be a great big brother. "You know, if we find a girl, just imagine the outfits."

Maura's entire face lights up at the very suggestion, and Jane spends the rest of the drive listening (disinterestedly but adoringly) as she details fabrics and cuts and patterns, and she thinks she hears something about matching ties for Nate and makes a note to nip that in the bud as often as possible.

And then Maura launches into yet another rant about clothing, and Jane thinks maybe she won't be so quick to deny her that joy.

Not that she'd ever have the willpower to do that.

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><p>el fin<p> 


End file.
